DURANT DAYS
by jkwasher
Summary: In the wake of Season Three, the entire Absaroka Sheriff's Department is reeling from the events of the past few months.
1. Chapter 1

**Durant Days**

 **Chapter 1**

 _ **A/N: Fear not, Leaving Durant, Survival & Missing Scenes are all progressing apace. I just figured out what to do with Leaving Durant this morning. Survival has several chapters written, but need to be re-ordered into the plotline (don't ask) and Missing Scenes are percolating. The new book leaves many possibilities. This just came to me anticipating Longmire Days and also the post S3-into S4 unknowns. This will likely be a 2-4 chapter thing, not so long. As Bob Barnes says, "Anyhoo…" here goes:**_

It had already been a sloggin' long morning of wading through a foot-high stack of phone records in search of the calls made to and by the guys who presumably were the killers of Frank Wharton's cattle. It was only 10 am according to the case clock on the mantle. Her phone, which she had looked at umpteen times so far, said 10:01 am

When Ruby got off the phone, she called over to the deputy desks, "That was Lila over at the Chamber of Commerce. She says Durant Days have been scheduled, so put it on your calendars, July 21-24, folks!"

Vic doodled on the stack of phone records. Sean hadn't wanted to attend in past years, and if in town, made sure she didn't attend or even provide security for the festival. This year Sean was in Australia and she was free to attend or work, but uncertain how she should proceed. If she wasn't scheduled for work or providing security, maybe she should apply for that. She really didn't want to attend as though announcing her immediate social availability to the thin bench that was Durant. All those months ago, Walt had asked her to stay, but had said nothing further on the matter since then. It wasn't like there wasn't enough work to keep her busy, or that the cases weren't sufficiently interesting to warrant staying. With Branch down in Cheyenne in a residential treatment center, they had more work than three bodies could handle. Lucian pinch hit for Ruby, and she and Ferg had been pulling 12 hour shifts for way too long.

"Okay, Ruby," Ferg said, sounding kind of down, fingering his own stack of records. Vic tilted her head at him with a little concern.

"What's up, Ferg?" She didn't want to uber-pry, just touch base. If it was heartache, she'd been there, done that, could empathize.

He shook his head. "Nuthin'. I just kinda miss Cady."

Cady! She had been gone all week, down in Cheyenne visiting Branch. Treatment Center was a nice term for a voluntary looney bin, but Branch was still struggling with some of the demons Ridges had apparently instilled in him. Cady had seemed to be gravitating more back to Branch since the accident, to Ferg's obvious consternation.

"Sorry, Ferg." She stepped up and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She'd known he'd worshipped Cady from afar, but he'd never admitted anything to her about Cady as a fellow deputy, before.

"It's okay, Vic. I know we all have our problems. So, are you and Sean finally dissolved?"

She merely gave a tight nod, but six years dissolved, like Alka-Seltzer in water, yeah, that pretty much described their relationship. House was sold, slim proceeds left divided, she had been spending most of her nights at the jail when it was empty, and some in her truck, but so far had not told anyone. She showered in the basement either at night or in the mornings before people got there. It let her put most of her paycheck toward something decent she might be able to tolerate. The apartments in her deputy price range in Durant were not very appealing.

"So, are you and Walt going to go?" asked Ruby in her gentle voice.

She knew that Walt and she spent more time together than most married couples, and she had been seen _in uniform_ with Walt almost everywhere about town, well, pretty much everywhere in the county and some places _outside_ the county, but there was a _huge_ difference in what Ruby had just asked than just being on duty with him.

Were Walt and she going to attend a social function together? She suspected the correct reply was— _Hell, no! —_ but she didn't want to snap at Ruby. Instead, she could feel her _deer-in-the-headlights_ look coming on. _Why_ in the world would Ruby ask _that?_

When she had control of her voice she replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ruby. You of all people know you keep Walt's calendar."

Ruby shrugged. "Not so much, anymore. He still depends on me for appointments, but not much else. He's really been coming along, recently."

"Oh." Vic still didn't understand why Ruby had asked the question of _her,_ and not in a million years would she _ever_ ask Walt, so she passed the buck. "You should probably ask Walt about it," she said, trying to sound casual, but not sure she succeeded. "Besides, I was thinking of working it."

Ruby only shrugged again, and went back to her police blotter for the _Durant Courant_.

XXX

She finally gave up on the phone logs when her stomach began complaining. She looked up at the Ferg. Walt had not come in all morning.

"Wanna get some lunch?" she asked him.

Ferg made a face. "I'm really close to finishing this, and then I've got to go on patrol, but thanks."

"You've gotta eat," she said, not wanting to answer Dorothy's well-meaning questions if she went solo.

"I'll eat if I get hungry. Besides, um, I'm kind of cutting back a little."

Astonishment. She backed off. "Oh!"

"Yeah, it'll make it easier for the fitness tests coming up." _And maybe to get a date…?_

"Okay. You found out my secret, Ferg."

"What's your secret?"

"Why I go running. It's not for fun. It's because I can't eat at Dorothy's and Henry's every day and not pack it on."

"Oh." He filed it as though it was literal food for thought, and went back to his logs. Before resuming concentration, he looked up as if weighing his options, but said, "Maybe you should cut back on _that_ , Vic. You've been looking a little skinny, lately, and like you aren't sleeping."

 _Holy shit_. Could the world, or at least all of Durant, identify her post-divorce issues? She exhaled. "I'm off to the Bee, Ruby."

She had made it to the Bee's front window graced by the large honeybee, when she saw Walt sitting at a booth inside, talking to a willowy woman about his age. She had an ageless beauty, and despite some touching up was likely a more natural blonde than she would ever be, and a pang crossed through her, thinking of how cute Lizzie had been. They had been a cute _couple_ , if they had ever _been_ a couple. He gave a huge smile that reached his eyes and laughed with his companion. Surprise stilling her motion and making her mouth an 'O', she lingered a couple of seconds watching what appeared to be friendly banter, then turned on her heel. It was not her business.

Right. Her choices were narrowed to Henry's, Dash Inn, or Kum and Go.

She opted a brief stop at Dash Inn, taking her truck out to an open meadow on the outskirts of town, so she could eat the unappealing deep-fry and have a bit of a cry. She did not want to cry at the office or in front of him. She was not crying for any particular reason, just the culmination of a lousy year, beatings, divorce, maybe investigating too many deaths. He could have lunch with anyone he wanted.

She returned to the office, tense and jaw set. Ferg had gone on patrol, and she waded through more of the stack. Ferg, the junior deputy, had a swing-shift. She was on duty until 8. He was 8-2 and then 6-12. Lucian forwarded the phones to himself during the night, and Walt overlapped them all. They could not go on indefinitely this way. Walt showed up about 2 pm and headed directly into his office with only a cursory, 'Afternoon."

She worked straight through until 8. Ruby forwarded the phones at five and left. Vic was getting ready to bound down to the showers when Walt came out of his office with a half-smile as though the rest of the day had not happened.

"Can I give you a lift home?" he asked suddenly, after not talking to her all day.

"No, thanks." She did not elaborate, and his smile faded.

She cleared her throat, as though he deserved an explanation. "I'm, ah, not good company tonight."

"Sean?" he asked, but she could sense his discomfort at digging into her personal life. It mirrored her own discomfort.

"No. Just a lot of things. Thanks anyway."

"Okay…" he said, lingering on the word. "I thought maybe it was time we could talk a little."

 _Shock_. She was thrown by those words. They had been so long coming, she had thought never thought to hear them, but she was feeling exceptionally vulnerable at that moment. She hated forming the words, but she said them. "Walt, not tonight."

He pressed his lips together, lowered his head, and nodded. Evidently two rejections counted for something.

"See you in the morning," he said, but he stood there, as though waiting for her to leave.

She, of course, had not planned on leaving, but to take a shower downstairs, and while business was slow, sleep in one of the vacant cells.

However, she had set this in motion, so she gathered up her things, took her Go Bag she had intended to take down to the shower with her, and headed out of the building.

Looked like another night in her truck.

She drove out of town, and saw only one other driver, headlights behind her. She was glad she was headed the opposite direction of Walt's ranch. She gravitated toward the same meadow she had eaten in earlier, and laid out her bedroll along the backseat of her truck. It wasn't big enough, but beat lying in the truck bed. One night she had been bitten by mosquitoes the size of field mice and gotten rained on doing that, and didn't plan on repeating the experience.

She turned on her side, trying to get comfortable, only to hear the scrunch of tires and lights flashing across the inside of her windshield.

 _Crap_. Who would come out here at night? She fingered the Glock lying on the floor beside her. If it were teenagers wanting to tryst, she would send them on their way, but in a minute, there was Walt illuminated by his headlights, knocking at the window in the locked door of her pickup.

"Vic!?" he said, shouting a little to get her attention. "You okay?"

"Walt, what the _fuck_?" she fumed. "You scared the _shit_ out of me!"

"I saw you head away from your house…I just wanted to be sure you're okay."

"I'm okay," she said, setting her jaw and pursing her lips. At least, I _was_ until you came storming up and gave me an adrenalin overload!" A thought occurred to her. "You didn't think I was _depressed_ or something, did you?" Her voice came out high, like when she was about to go all _Terror_ on someone.

His head went down and to the side, an abashed move she'd seen him make many times. Embarrassment, fear…

"I didn't know. We haven't had a chance to catch up, lately."

 _Catch up_? That implied they'd ever been on the same page. Not since the night she signed divorce papers had she even _remotely_ thought _that._

"You've been looking a little… _peaked_ lately, I thought maybe you needed to talk about it."

She debated letting him have it, or just getting back to sleep. Something more in the middle intervened. She was not so mad at him as that, not really. He'd made some catastrophically bad choices, but backed off at the last minute, which just made them questionable ones. Now they were all just muddling along first reeling over, then trying to recuperate from the events of the last few months.

"I'm okay, Walt," she said in a lower voice. "I know you've had a lot on your plate, too. We all have."

Her marriage to Sean had ended, Ferg was mooning over Cady, Branch was in Cheyenne, Ruby seeming always close to tears, and Walt…she was never sure with him. He had not confided in her for a long time, ever since he had admitted wanting to kill Jacob, but the Connally shooting had brought him out of that loop.

"I don't know what you want, Walt."

"Why aren't you at your house?"

"My house sold weeks ago."

"It did? Ruby…"

"Ruby doesn't even know. It's not all your business, Walt. It's _my_ business." She hated putting him in his place, but there it was.

He inhaled, his nostrils widening. His lips that had the compression to them signaling _stubborn_. "Maybe in Philly it would be, but I've been worried about you. You don't look good. Where are you staying?"

She shrugged. "The jail, out here…I'll figure out something before the cold weather hits."

"That isn't right. Come have coffee with me. Stay on the couch if you want. I won't bother you."

"Gee, thanks for the offer, it was such a great stay the last time," she said, dripping sarcasm she didn't even know was in her. She was afraid _Terror_ simmered just under the surface.

The hurt showed plain on his face. Maybe he hid it better at the office. Maybe she had the capacity to wound him. She felt plenty wounded on her front, but she didn't want to fight.

"Look, I know it's taking you a while to get your arms around what happened…"

"You act as if I'm _embracing_ what happened. I can't do that. I will never be able to do that."

"You have to do _something_ to move forward." And then it just came out. "Is that why you went to lunch with that woman, today?"

He looked as though she had struck him.

"Were you stalking me, Vic?"

She gave a voiceless _"Huh."_ " _No_ , Walt…was just coming over for lunch, like _we_ do almost every day." She looked down and turned her toe in the dirt. "So…just let me go back to sleep, huh?"

"I'm not seeing her, Vic."

That brought her head up, and the _Terror_ just erupted. "I didn't say you fucking _were!_ It doesn't _matter_ if you _are!_ Don't you understand? Just leave me the fuck alone!" He backed from the door at her ferocity, and she slammed it behind him and locked it.

The _Terror_ , like the Kraken, had been released, was amok and had struck.

The legendary badass sheriff of Absaroka County, standing in the illumination of his headlights, looked as though he'd been felled by a poleaxe. He backed away, and in a few seconds had peeled off in an explosion of dirt and grass which she heard but didn't see, blinded as she was by her tears.

Well, she was pretty sure the answer to Ruby's question would now indeed be the resounding, " _Hell, no!"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Durant Days**

 **Chapter 2**

 _ **A/N So, this is flowing slowly like warm maple syrup right now…other, totally awesome and darker stories out there from some of the heavy hitters make this seem like fluff, but must keep writing…**_

She woke fuzzy-tongued on the cot in the jail, but to the luscious aroma of coffee. After Walt's precipitate departure from the meadow, she had not been either able to get comfortable or sleep in the truck. She had finally relinquished her impromptu bed and taken herself back to the station, indulged in the shower she'd been craving, and collapsed on the cot in exhaustion. No one had been there, Lucian having the rollover calls that night, and the silent surroundings felt like the comfort of old friends.

She put a tentative tongue between her teeth, trying to wake up and making her initial shittiness assessment for the day to come, but the coffee smell was still really strong and enticing. She cracked one eye open, to see Walt sitting silently watching her, with his boots propped against the cell bars one of the vintage straight wood chairs borrowed from the reception area, sipping from his chipped Broncos mug. With her trained observer's eye, she noticed that the cell door was closed. She never closed it, never wanted to accidentally get locked in from aged hardware. How embarrassing would _that_ be!

"Why is the door closed?" she asked, her voice sounding rusty from disuse. She cleared her throat, trying to banish the cobwebs of sleep from it.

"After last night, thought it might be prudent, especially if that was you and you weren't drinking."

"Ha-ha, very fucking funny. I do owe you an apology."

The boots came down and he placed the mug on the floor. He disappeared for a couple of minutes, returning with the flyers mug no doubt sweetened to her taste. He did know her preferences in her coffee.

"Is it safe to come in, or will I get my head bit off?"

She made a noise through her nose. "I'm sorry."

"No," he said, clearing his own throat, swinging the door open and handing her the doctored Philly Flyers mug, "that would be me. I've kept you and Ferg running on fumes for months, now, trying to keep all the balls in the air without Branch."

"You didn't know," she said in a low voice, "that it would take this fucking long, that he was so…damaged, and need so much therapy."

Walt shrugged. "There is also that he committed crimes while he was so…damaged. The county is still paying him to keep his insurance in force, to cover his treatment. You and Sam Poteet didn't press charges, Travis is willing to drop any charges, but the filling station is not. Once his treatment is done, he will have to answer for them."

She looked up from her mug in surprise. "Can't Barlow afford it, or make it right with the gas station? I mean, Branch did have a pretty good _not right_ thing going on, there."

Walt's face hardened. "Barlow has refused to offer any help. Disowned him."

She made a face of disbelief. "Disowned his own _son_? _"_

"Worse. Says Branch is, well, in Lucian's terms, 'crazy as a waltzing piss-ant."

"Why would he do that?" She had not heard any of this, no wonder Walt had been unable to progress on the Jacob case or anything else the last few months. The frustration must be overwhelming. "I mean, just two years ago, he backed him to take _your_ job. Doesn't that kind of make him a hypocrite?"

"I don't know, unless like before, although when Branch wasn't quite right, he was still _right_ about Ridges. Maybe he's _right_ about something else. It's one of the things I've been wrestling with. I've missed you, Vic. I, ah, need you as a sounding board. As a friend. I figured I drove you away after I told you about Jacob. Why you've been scheduling shifts opposite me. Why you won't talk to me."

She didn't answer. It _had_ profoundly affected her trust, if not making her question her judgment in Walt as a trusted partner, as the _real man_ she had always admired, and even more, about men in general.

"So, this morning, I've been on the horn with Jim Wilkins. He's going to loan us a few new hires for a couple of months for 'seasoning.' We train 'em, and Cumberland will pay for them to assist us."

She perked up a bit at that. "Nice move," she said, slipping into professional mode, "but how do we house them?"

"And…that depends on this morning's agenda, two-fold."

"Okay…" she said, not understanding, and thinking she might not like it when she did. Maybe he planned to house her with the new guys in a dorm or something. She was _way_ past wanting to be a dorm-mom to green recruits.

Then Ferg called out "Mornin'!" from the reception area, and Walt grinned.

"That would be the agenda. First, we eat. I promised Dorothy yesterday I'd feed you up. She said you've been looking a little 'peaky,' that was Dorothy's word for it."

She made a face. "It can't be surprising if I've been off my feed a little. It's post-divorce stress or something. I'm just tired."

"Second, you come with Henry and me and we find you a place for the here and now."

"Walt—like I tried to tell you last night, it's not your—"

"While you're working for me and here in Durant, it _is_ my business. If your performance becomes sub-par, it drags us all down, you could get injured or killed, or get someone _else_ injured or killed." He twisted his lips, "Or worse, your language makes my constituents run for the hills."

What's this about a place, you guys suddenly real estate barons or something?" she asked, but salivating over the aroma of biscuits and gravy which accompanied the Ferg, who handed her a styrofoam box, fork and napkin from within the bag he carried. He dutifully handed the other to Walt.

"Nope, but we each have a vacant place. You should've asked. You don't have to carry it all yourself, Vic. You have friends here."

"Oh." She suddenly felt very small, but equally as warmed by his pronouncement. At one time, before the Nighthorse debacle, she had thought Walt was her only friend, but remained wary, because men friends in her past had always turned into Eds or Seans.

She had never had many friends, especially women friends. Her mouth and her profession had dictated that, even in Philly. Here, the women seemed to mostly fear her as a ticketing arm of the Law, maybe with the exception of Ruby. She of all people seemed to know that _The Terror_ was more than mouth and bluster. Maybe Ferg was beginning to come in a distant third in the friend department.

But Walt was offering to help, and maybe she should consider it. Suddenly hungry, she sighed, opened the box, inhaled the savory aroma, and dug in.

XXX

"What is this place, Walt?" she asked. Henry followed them in, seeming to eye the interior with a note of professional interest. The house was an older craftsman two-story near downtown Durant, and apparently had several bedrooms on the second floor.

"This is where I lived for over twenty years with Martha and Cady."

She inhaled sharply. She _did_ want a place, but not one that had so many memories for him. She did not want to be one of this house's memories.

"Wait, wait, wait…wait. I don't want to see any more."

Walt turned in surprise. "No? No one lives here, now. Henry's been after me to remodel it so I can rent it out for more. I figure it'll be steady retirement income, or I'll sell it if I'm tired of land-lording after a while."

She inhaled sharply. _Retirement._ He was thinking of retirement, she about career advancement. Sometimes, they were on such different wavelengths.

"If Vic does not want it, Walt, then your loaner deputies could live here while we figure out the remodel. It does have three bedrooms."

Walt nodded, watching her. "Vic?"

Her eyes met his. She bit her lip and shook her head _no_. "Thank you, though."

He jerked his head toward to the door.

"Let's move on, then."

Henry insisted they make the drive in Rezdawg about fifteen minutes out of town, not quite to either the Pony's or Walt's turnoff. They left the main road and negotiated what was little more than a dirt track about a mile toward a long stand of trees, mixed cottonwoods and conifers. Rezdawg wheezed, moaned and bumped over the ruts.

"It will not be a fun drive in winter, but you do have the all-wheel drive truck," Henry observed. The weather had favored them that day, sunny and cloudless so far.

They pulled up in front of what appeared to be cabins set back in the trees, a whole row of them, spaced apart for privacy.

"It used to be Shady Creek Cottages," said Henry fondly. "I am trying to think of a suitable renaming, have cut back some of the growth and made improvements to a number of them to bring them into the twenty-first century.

"You own all these?" she asked Henry in surprise.

"I do. I acquired them a few years back when the owners moved to sunnier climes, and made me an offer I could not refuse. I have been remodeling mostly during the milder weather as my budget and time allows. I am somewhat behind due to my, ah…inactivity this year…" and Vic knew he was referring to the ankle bracelet he had worn during the summer.

She took them in, strangely charmed by the older units. They were all tiny cabins, very rustic, very pretty. A little like dollhouses. A rushing noise was faint in the distance.

"Near the water?" she asked hopefully. She had learned over the years she always slept soundly to the sound of moving water. What a luxury _that_ would be!

"Just down a short winding path of the sizeable bank is a tributary of Clear Creek. These are outside the flood plain, or I would not have considered them. Here we boast some of the best fly-fishing in Wyoming, or Montana, for that matter. I rent them out seasonally to the tourists. Your neighbors will come and go if you choose the one I have available."

She shrugged. That wouldn't really matter. Henry pulled Rezdawg in front of what appeared to be a tiny alpine chalet.

"It's sort of a Walt cabin mini-me," she said, entranced. Walt chuckled at her description.

"How much?"

"Let us look at it, first, to see if it will suit."

So they piled out and poked and peered through it. There was not a whole lot of house to see. It was a tiny seasonal cottage, living and kitchen on the main floor with a wood stove in the middle, and a ladder to a loft bed. It wasn't a full height bedroom, just a mattress in an area about five feet high. Henry climbed up, crawled to the back, and swung out a window behind the bed area.

"My favorite feature," he said, with a smile. From where she stood below, she could hear the rushing water much closer. "Your personal noise machine."

She followed Walt as he poked around the kitchen. It was tiny, but fully equipped, even with a dishwasher, and all stainless steel. "You've done a nice job with this, Henry," he said.

Henry, who had climbed down from the loft, smiled.

"I am more proud of _this_ ," he proclaimed, and swung open the door to the left of the kitchen. It was set under the loft, but a hidden jewel in the rustic setting, a surprisingly large bathroom, complete with separate shower and tub, marble floor, and completely updated fixtures. At the back, the room ended in what looked like a closet.

"A tankless water heater and forced air heat, Vic, so I have made it more than seasonal. It will be warm in the winter, fireplace, stove, or not. I am doing that with all the cabins, with the future in mind."

Vic felt her mouth go to an 'O' which remained for a while…the bathroom _was_ beautiful, and beyond expectation.

"Okay," she said finally, "So how much, really? If you rent to tourists…"

"Sleep sofa will sleep two," Henry said. "Next year I may add on a proper bedroom, and make that a loft for children. It will bring in much more, then."

"How _much?_ " she persisted.

"Well, this small, how about $500 a month, but it may be for less than a year. I have not advertised it, and so have no rental reservations for this year, but if I start doing renovations, you might have to move again. $500 a month will go a long way to pay for my renovations next year, and for your trouble, if I go that direction."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You could advertise it today and get a _lot_ more. What, $200 a night, in season?"

Henry exhaled through his nose. "If I wished to, yes. I just completed it to this point before my…arrest. I have made no changes since then. I have been…kind of busy." She knew he did not want to speak of that time, and seemed to purse his lips, lost in thought.

"Look, Vic, if Henry decides to upgrade it next year, I'll help you find another place, then. For now, it's small, but will it do for a bit?"

She took a breath, knowing she sounded ungrateful. "What it makes me think is, I couldn't live here in Durant and pay real rent for a place of my own on a deputy's salary."

Why did she say such things that she knew must hurt him? She saw Walt's face go tight and blank. There had been no discussion beyond her acknowledgment of staying: not for how long, or staying as _what_ , or whether she wasslated to replace him as sheriff at his indefinite retirement, when he might ride off into the sunset with the beautiful woman at the Bee. She knew that if she wanted to give notice right at that moment, she was free, with no contract or commitment beyond the approval of the Absaroka County Sheriff.

He cleared his throat. "I just want you to get a good night's sleep."

She put her head down, thought a minute. "What about an air conditioner? Remember, I'm a city girl. It's nice today, but it could get warm in there."

The two men looked at each other, obviously surprised by the question.

"Ah—we can find a window unit, maybe, or a small swamp cooler," said Walt, who added, "It's not a large area to cool."

Nope, it was downright tiny, almost like a studio.

What did she need space for? Not for entertaining, for sure, it would be easy to keep clean, had a tub, and she could sleep to sound of the water at night. It was perfect.

"Okay, I'll take it." She added to Henry, "Thanks, Henry, I know you could do better."

Henry once again met Walt's eyes. "The ASD helped me when I needed it this past year," he said pointedly. "If I remember, there was a tail-light incident with Jacob Nighthorse attributed to you and it broke the case locating David Ridges' body with Sam Poteet. I believe a complaint was lodged against you for the same incident, Vic? That is why I believe I owe the department a good turn here and there for securing my freedom."

She blushed, did not realize he knew the extent of her involvement. Only a few did.

Walt smiled and nodded, obviously relieved that _one_ of his thorny problems had been resolved.

"Vic, I'm giving you and Ferg today off to get you settled. I'll call Dawn and Cassie, I think they're in town, and see if they can clean up my town house today or tomorrow. Late tomorrow our loaners get here, we'll get them moved in and start training."

She gave a resigned nod. It was apparently moving day, but she really didn't mind. She would have her own place away from the station, from those who knew her, if she just wanted to sleep, or get drunk or something. Or, she thought, maybe bring someone home with her. She was _lonely_ , but if she had learned anything in the past few years, it was the difference between friendship and a one-nighter with someone who didn't give a fuck.

"And it's close enough that either Henry or I can help if you have a plumbing emergency, need firewood, or those kind of things..."

Or maybe it wasn't far enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Durant Days**

 **Chapter 3**

 _ **A/N: Maybe the maple syrup is cooling…but it's still flowing. Some pretty incredible work coming out of other people's fingers. I am in awe. Still, I am not writing as dark as that these days.**_

It had been almost a week since the three young men had taken residence in Durant. They made Vic feel _old_. She had no idea how they made Walt feel, she rarely saw him. Instead, she and Ferg alternately conducted morning trainings, then took the guys out with them, having them shadow the tedium which was most of police work, most of the time. Walt came in to wade through the endless paperwork and decision-making, and to cover while she and/or Ferg were out with the new guys.

She had nicknamed them Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and Tweedledumber, which wasn't fair. They were all nice guys, but they all reminded her of Ferg about four years ago – or before she'd met and had corrupted his ears with her brand of _Terror_ , including language.

Ferg had snickered after observing them for an afternoon. "Should we take away their bullets, like Barney Fife?" Appalled that she knew the reference, she answered, "No, they might need them, but we need to be sure they know _when_ they need them."

She thought Ferg enjoyed being promoted to a 'Senior Deputy' for a while, although she had not been promoted beyond 'Undersheriff.' He had reverted back to his small desk after the Connally shooting, but with the new guys there, had moved back up to Branch's.

"Temporary," said Ferg, almost apologetically. He wouldn't say it, but she knew he hoped Branch would return as the man he could be.

"Fucking deserved," she said promptly, and she saw Ferg straighten a little as if in pride, but it made one of the rookies jump. They weren't used to a woman using coarse language as an art form. Ferg had early-on of necessity developed immunity to it.

One of the new guys had Ferg's old desk, one had a card table, and one had…nothing. He sort of worked from two opposing chairs with his laptop propped on his legs.

The rookies' names were Jon Blackburn (Tweedledum), Chet Strahan (Tweedledee) and Billy Lassiter (Tweedledumber.) Not one of them did she trust in the field with her, which prompted an edict from her on the second day of training. In fairness, she did leave a message on Walt's voicemail about it, since he wasn't in when the inspiration hit.

"It will be good training for us to wear tactical vests this week."

"Are there enough, Vic?" Ferg had a point. They had stocked up for the Sheriff and three deputies when a grant had presented itself, and here they would have the Sheriff and _five_ deputies.

"I doubt if Walt will wear one, maybe I won't, either."

"Or we just wear them if we are on calls together with the new guys."

"Yeah, that makes sense," she agreed. Problem solved.

So she and Ferg broke the rookies out into sections, and she designed a curriculum to familiarize them with available weaponry, policies and procedures, her patented wristlock which had been known to make huge men cry, and the finer points of Absaroka County quirks and crazies, of which there were no dearth.

By the end of the third week, Jon, Chet and Billy seemed to be settling in a little. She and Ferg began taking them out on calls. Most of them were lost dogs, broken down cars and the occasional filch from the Kum and Go, but that Friday afternoon they received a call from Geordie Ainsley. It was a wildly-worded call that Ruby played back for all of them.

"He's convinced the IRS is coming to take his prized convertible," Vic said to the men milling about. He's done this before. I've gone out there with Walt a couple of times. Here's how we handle it: we don't want to spook him, so we _do not draw our weapons._ We engage him in conversation, and offer to protect his property from removal."

"So the IRS really doesn't want it?" asked Billy. She hadn't dubbed him dumb- _er_ for nuthin'.

"Nope. Geordie is probably off his meds again. It happens."

"Oh."

"Just follow my lead, but this is one we'll wear vests for. He might be armed."

"Armed!" yelped Chet.

"Yeah," she replied drily, trying not to sound too sarcastic, "Like about ninety percent of Absaroka County."

"Oh, okay."

XXX

In the end, she took Jon, who seemed to be most in control of the three of them. They both had tactical vests on. The first day, she and Ferg had practiced entries with all the rookies, how not to get knocked over by fleeing suspects, how to announce their presence, so today, she let Jon stand to the side, knock, and shout, "Sheriff's Department!"

No answer. Well, _someone_ had called the station less than fifteen minutes ago from this address.

She sang out, thinking a familiar voice might help. "Sheriff's Department. This is Deputy Moretti! Do you remember me, Geordie?"

A shuffling inside. Then, unmistakably, "Yep. Walt's girlfriend."

She inhaled sharply, oh, _that_ was not good, to be thought of as that. She shot a quick challenging side-look to Jon, whose eyes narrowed.

"His _deputy_ , Geordie. I'm U _ndersheriff_ to Walt, like second in command _,_ and I'm here because you called us for help. Do you remember that?"

"Get back!" cried a voice from inside. "Get back!"

She scowled. That _wasn't_ Geordie's voice. It sounded… _female_.

"Are you all right, Geordie? Are you alone?"

"No, I'm not all right, I told you dumbshits that this IRS thief is here to take my convertible."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jon with his hand on his weapon. She made the sign for 'stand down.' Last thing they needed was Jon terrifying either Geordie or the woman inside.

"Who is your guest, Geordie?" she asked, trying to keep the dialog going.

"Ain't no guest, she's trying to take my car!" he shouted, sounding frantic.

"Is your gun out, Geordie?"

"Darn tootin'! She's trying to steal Clarisse!"

"Who _is_ she, Geordie?"

"She says she's Mary Makilla from Cheyenne, here to collect for the IRS, but she says she's FBI."

She blinked. An FBI agent for real? "For not paying _taxes_ , Geordie?"

"I don't owe taxes. It's a mistake."

"Ah, Geordie, you can't pull a gun on the FBI."

"She says she'll shoot us if I don't stand down."

"She could, Geordie. You should stand down."

"I will if Walt tells me to, otherwise, I'll shoot anyone who tries and take Clarisse from me."

She turned to tell Jon to call Walt and get him over there, but before she could say a word, she heard a 'snick, snick' sound and was thrown into the hood of her truck.

"What the _fuck!"_ she said, rebounding by charging at Jon, whose Glock was suddenly out. She tossed him to the ground, putting the truck between them and the house. His gun flew out and fired, knocking out her headlight and generating another round of fire from inside the house, one of which hit her grille.

"You _fucker_!" she hissed. "You spooked him! Or her."

From the house came "FBI, stand down Deputy!"

She looked down, seeing two burn marks on her vest. Walt would be furious. She just had to make sure he didn't take it out on a Tweedle brother.

" _Shit_!"

XXX

The self-identified FBI agent came out of the house dragging Geordie by the collar like a human shield. Mary Makilla was tall, angular, and fuming, with scraped back greying hair, and wearing a black pantsuit. Not screaming 'FBI,' though.

"Officer down!" Oh, multicrappola, Jon was calling Ruby. She grabbed the mike. "Ruby, I'm fine! We're wearing vests! No one is down. Don't bother Walt until I figure out what's going on!"

That was immediately followed by, "Ruby, this is Unit 1. My 10-20 is Sheridan. On my way." So he'd been listening. She figured she had about a half hour to wind this up if he came in hot.

The Ferg pulled up in the badass Trans Am at that moment. Mercifully, the other Tweedles were not with him.

"FBI ID, please," she said, badging the FBI agent with her own. The woman looked daggers at her, as though she wasn't worth it, and didn't badge her back. Red flags went up.

"Release the suspect, please," she said, we'll take it from here."

"No, I'm here to get his car, dead or alive." She wondered idly if the woman meant the car or the man.

To her credit, she didn't shoot Mary or whoever she really ID'd as, just turned away a moment to deflect her attention, and used the quick reverse wristlock she preferred on her. The offending weapon clattered to the concrete. She deftly cuffed Mary to a table on the porch. Pretty sad for a pseudo-FBI, really. Pretty nifty that one of the Tweedles saw her use the wristlock they'd been practicing for almost two weeks.

"You're lead on this one, Ferg. Cuff Geordie too, process the crime scene and take them _both_ in until we can get this sorted out. I'm driving to the ER _now_ , or Walt will have my hide for not getting checked out." She winced at this last, because she was really very sore, but definitely not _down._

She left Ferg showing Jon the finer aspects of getting suspects into a Trans Am. With several years' experience in thorny cases, she trusted that he would delegate all the shit duties and make it through most of the paperwork before she returned to the station later.

She hoped her exit was a spectacular as Walt's had been from the meadow a few weeks before, and that Jon the Tweedle hadn't missed it.

XXX

She had already been gowned, examined, and to X-ray _twice_. She'd been manipulated and studied from all angles. She had an icepack taped to the back of her right shoulder. She was pretty tired of it all and all along had been pretty sure she was okay.

Dr. Weston made a face. "You're going to have some spectacular bruising," he said, "especially on the back of your shoulder where you hit your car, but the second X-ray still shows no internal bleeding." He was once again feeling her ribs, when a commotion arose down the hall.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. She would make book, Walt, coming in hot.

The door almost blew open as Walt filled the doorway and it seemed like he teleported to her without stopping.

"You shouldn't be in here, Sheriff." Weston wasn't afraid of Walt, not a bit, and she definitely liked that about him.

She could see Walt's jaw working. Was he _trembling_?

"What happened?" His voice was almost feral, little more than a growl. He suddenly took one more step forward and threw her gown up without warning. She inhaled sharply, but said nothing. His large ends splayed over the two bruised areas, which flanked more promising territory that he pointedly ignored for the moment.

"Sheriff!" admonished Weston, then, "We took X-rays twice. No internal bleeding, no apparent damage," he said, trying to restore a professional demeanor.

"Leave us. Please." Walt seemed to have run out of words.

She nodded and sort of gave Dr. Weston permission to step out. As soon as Weston had closed the door behind him, Walt dropped a little, leaning in as her gown fell once more about her, his cheek resting on her now-covered breasts. His arms went around, and she knew he was trying not to squeeze.

It took only a moment for her to gather his head to her, threading her fingers through his unruly hair. He stepped in closer to her thighs where she sat on the gurney. She no longer wore jeans in deference to the X-rays, and wearing only blue bikinis, used her ankles to hook him in, abandoning the threading and resorting to spearing his hair. She wanted to be gentle, but she didn't think he felt that. She wanted him to _feel_ she was all right.

"Walt, it wasn't the rookie's fault, not really," she began in a low, soothing voice, "and we _were_ both wearing vests. Don't go looking for someone to punch." It was _not_ a request.

"What happened?" he asked again, eyes still wild and somehow liquid. This time, she heard the mirror of the words she had said to him when he had returned from rescuing and stabilizing Branch after the shooting the year before, and realized his fear. She knew this time the fear was for her, but they both knew it might happen again, to either or both of them, and be much, much worse.

In a calm and measured voice, she filled in as much as she knew. "There was a crazy in there with Geordie. I am pretty sure she isn't or ever was FBI. I left Ferg as lead. He can handle it for prints, DNA and the works. I only left to come here because I knew you'd blow up if I didn't get seen first and info later."

"Someone should have driven you, or the EMTs," he growled into her unbruised shoulder and trailing hair. Her ponytail seemed to have disappeared in the force of nature which were his roving hands.

"I got here before they could have even picked me up," she assured him. "and I am betting that Ferg did great. We need to find out who this so-called FBI woman is, and why she was terrorizing Geordie. It makes me wonder whether she hasn't done this, before, or maybe to someone else."

He saw her vest sitting over on the Wife's Chair, bent over and examined it. It was like he was loathe to let her go, but he studied it very carefully before returning and putting his arms more judiciously around her neck, interlocking his fingers behind. He bowed his head so his forehead touched hers.

"I have tried, Vic. _Tried_."

She made a noise of not understanding. "Tried what, Walt?" She had her hands in his hair, again, this time, very gentle. He knew she was there, now.

"Keeping a strictly professional relationship, after I figured out Nighthorse had been behind Martha and Cady, and still employs Malachi, who was somehow behind Henry's arrest…"

"Yeah, so?" she asked mildly.

He shook his head as though it should be obvious. "We can't get closer, or I may put you at risk."

A chill ran through her. So _that_ was it. That explained so _much…._

"…but I _can't_ , anymore." He shook his head helplessly, his hands separating in supplication.

"That was what you wanted to talk about a few weeks ago?"

"A coward, I'm a sniveling coward when it comes to anyone else getting hurt."

She took a deep breath. She was sore, it was a shorter breath than usual, but she had been assured the ribs weren't broken or even cracked, merely bruised. Hurt like hell, though.

"Still protecting me," she said to his hair.

"It's just…me. How I am wired."

"I know. I like just you how you am wired."

He shifted from her, stood away and gazed at her with piercing, full eyes.

"Get dressed and I'll take you home."

"That's up to Weston," she reminded him.

"My home," he clarified. At her raised eyebrows, he rationalized, "Everyone knows to call me there, and I can monitor you all night."

"Oh. Yeah. Monitor. Like you were doing a few minutes ago?" Did she sound sarcastic enough in the department of sarcastic, yet?

"Yeah, maybe like that." Then, reflecting, "Um, no, _more_ than that."

She tried to decide whether to let that go. He did indeed look very earnest at that moment.

"Don't _ever_ offer me anything you and Martha shared again, okay? I almost filed an application for Philly after that."

His eyes flickered in surprise. "I won't. Point taken. But…she lived at the cabin…"

"For a very short time. It wasn't even finished. I'm okay with that."

"Well."

"I could go back to my house and use the sleep sofa."

"No."

"I may need some stuff from there."

"Noted. Make me a list, I can go over later, when you're asleep.

"Well."

"Well. Will you go to Durant Days with me?"

If she had been drinking, she would have spit it all over the gown.

"You serious?"

"Yep."

"You're asking me on a date in here." It was not a question.

"Figure if you're going to spend the night with me, you must like me a little. I might as well take the opportunity to ask before the Tweedles do."

She made another, more humorous noise through her nose. "The _what_?"

"You know."

She made a sound. "Yeahhhh, but…you _shouldn't_. Besides, they're all terrified of _me_."

"Is that a _yes_?"

"Well, since you asked so nice, and made such a pretty entrance…"

Her heart did a backflip flip as that elicited a private smile.

"You double-parked, didn't you?"

"Sort of."

That meant he hadn't _parked_ at all. She began to laugh, which hurt her ribs.

"Go park. Put Weston out of his misery and send him back."

"Yes, ma'am," but his grin was for her only, as he disappeared out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Durant Days**

 **Chapter 4**

 _ **A/N: Maybe I am writing in angst-lite, a personal form of literary libation. I also enjoy alliteration. So there. Oh, wait. This somehow got funny and didn't follow my scripted directions. Sorry, will insert angst somewhere else…Leaving Durant is next up, then Survival. Those should qualify. Hey, thank you for reviews-I am not as conversant with Star Wars I-III as I thought...have fixed several muffs. Hey, maybe the padawans were from Padua?**_

It was hot that day, dusty and cloudless on the plains, with a line of clouds up over the foothills of the Bighorns which suggested the possibility of rain later that afternoon, but for now, it was time for barbeque, bands, and pretty girls.

The Tweedle brothers had fanned out in search of food and fairer game. Ruby sat near her, a suitable chaperone, knitting what she claimed was a blanket for her newest great nephew due in a few weeks. All Vic knew, it was a soft and pretty pale blue-and-white striped thing. The Ferg was out on the basketball court which was subbing today as the dance floor, cutting a figure with a young woman from Ucross.

She still wore the sling Dr. Weston had prescribed, but would be shedding it, soon. He was very pleased with her progress, but had asked her several times if Walt had been appropriate and if she had any complaints about his behavior.

"Nope, none." She had answered all his questions. She had not been helpful, but there was nothing to hold Walt accountable for, either as caregiver or lover.

Mary Makilla's fingerprints had scored a hit as Mary Makill, a housewife from Billings who had developed a tendre for Geordie's convertible when Geordie's then-wife Maisy had put it up on Craigslist a few years before.

Geordie had promptly divorced Maisy, but it hadn't stopped Mary's lust for the beast. The entire ASD had the same lust as the car was impounded to the print shed, for cherry 1964 ½ Mustangs were few and far between in Durant, indeed in the entire _country_. And, as far as they could tell, not _one_ of the other ones had been called _Clarisse_.

So Absaroka County had officially inherited a Billings version of garden variety unhinged, and the object lesson had been passed on to the Tweedles how to handle multiple crazies at one time. It was something Walt had said years ago, and then again when Branch had been dueling with his demons.

 _Just pretend they're sane until something makes sense, or you can get an opening. Even if they aren't right, sometimes they are right._

Clarisse was once more safely in Geordie's detached garage. Walt had ventured to him it might be nice to bring her out to the town parades now and then. Geordie was taking that under consideration. It had been a great relief to him that the IRS had no issue with Clarisse.

Vic hadn't been released to work, even desk work, yet, so instead of placating Sean as in prior years, or working security, she was attending the event. Ruby made a wonderful companion and the sling helped deflect the thin bench that was Durant, even as the populous flowed about her. Not the belle of this ball this time, in one sense it was a disappointment, but in another, it was a relief, a fresh start. In Philly, she had always craved the attention, but this year, with Sean gone, and Walt and she dipping their toes and pretty much the rest of themselves into developing a relationship, she preferred not to be in the limelight.

Cady was back, and Walt had said he'd had breakfast with her a few days ago. At least, the rumpled bed had been empty when she'd awakened, and he'd left a note on the nightstand in his distinctive large printing.

She was going to make a comment to Ruby about how Cady looked like she was enjoying the dancing with one of the Tweedles, when she heard the scrape of a chair and turned.

The perfectly groomed blonde woman she had seen with Walt at the Bee had slipped into it, smiling at her. She felt her breath hitch and her ribs ached.

She didn't want to seem like a jealous bitch right off, so she ventured, "Hi?"

The smile broadened. The woman was impeccably groomed, with thousands of dollars of Indian jewelry draped over her, which reminded her a little of Lizzie, but _this was not Lizzie_. This was someone Walt had seemed at ease with, or may have had a past with at some point. Her competitive radar perked up, because the blonde was speaking.

"I'm Sally Taubman. Has Walt mentioned me at all?"

 _Why, no, he certainly has not, and I can't think of one reason why he would…_ her mind went back to a lazy lovemaking just that morning, all sliding heat and mouths and sweaty tangled limbs…nope, no Sally there at all.

"No? I thought he might have." She almost pouted. "He was my Padawan, after all."

She thought she heard a choked laugh nearby, but when she turned, Ruby was just furiously knitting, head down.

 _Was_ —past tense. " _Padawan_? Wasn't that something from one of those Star Wars movies?"

"Right, a Jedi apprentice that Qui-Gon took on to teach the tools of the force. When that movie came out, I recognized our relationship in it right off. Walt and I had a rather enlightened understanding for a couple of years in college. I'd school him in, um, _pleasing_ a girlfriend, and as the girlfriend of an offensive tackle, I'd get to attend all the parties he got invited to while on the team. I met my future husband at one of those…later became an NFL team owner. I gave Walt plenty of notice, of course. Ari was about the age Walt is now, but I had thirty good years with him, five children…buried him just before Christmas, last year." She took a deep, closed-mouth breath. A sigh, really, like she indeed did miss her husband.

 _Taubman_. The Christmas card on the station mantle she couldn't place. No one in Durant by that name, after all…

"I'm very sorry for your loss," she said automatically to this revelation.

"Vic," said Walt, waving as he trotted past on the dance floor in a two-step with Cady. "Have you been introduced to Sara, yet?" They moved on quickly, in what appeared to be earnest conversation.

"I was Sara Mueller, then," the woman laughed. "I will always be Sara to him. I was Ari's Sally. Anyway, I hope you are reaping the benefits of ," the woman went on, "uh, my tutelage." She winked. It was a _broad_ wink, or the wink of an _old broad_ , take your pick.

"Ah—" Rarely was _The Terror_ without words, but she could feel crimson staining her cheeks.

"Just so you know," Sara—Sally—said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I called him _Grasshopper_."

"Another movie," she murmured weakly, desperately trying to neither laugh nor cry. _Karate Kid_ or not, this was a Walt she described who she could never have envisioned.

"Actually, no. Even earlier, from a television show-Kung Fu. Before your time, honey. He was so innocent, then. Unfinished. He was always a big guy, but he's developed character along the way to go along with that."

"Yeah." _Wow, articulate Moretti_ , she thought.

"And when I mean, a big guy, I mean, _a big guy_." Again the wink.

Yeah, well, Walt was definitely— _proportional_ , but she wouldn't admit that to this woman to save her skin, but her face _had_ to be flaming.

Ruby sat there as though knitting was her life, which, for the moment, it apparently was, but in a few seconds she looked up and addressed Sally directly.

"Will you be staying in Durant much longer, Mrs. Taubman?" she asked. Trust Ruby to ask the direct question and stop this line of conversation. She threw Ruby a silent and grateful t _hank you._

Sally gave a shrug, and looked almost _coy_ before answering.

"I don't know, exactly, but Walt introduced me to his friend Omar a few weeks ago, and he, um, invited me to stay with him a while. We'll, uhh, see…"

Now the smile was almost cat-like. She almost expected Sally to _pounce._ She idly wondered whether Omar might be addressed as _Grasshopper_ as well, at some point. Omar was no cherub, though, and had been around the block a few times, unlike young Walt. Vic suspected Sally might even learn a thing or two from _him_. She decided they deserved one another.

Speak of the devil, there was Omar striding their way, beaming. He leaned over and kissed Sally on the cheek. He was currently in beard mode, but she seemed to enjoy it.

"Sorry I'm late, had a little brou-ha-ha with my broker and had to fix it. Glad to see you on the mend, Vickie."

She just smiled and ignored his misuse of her name. The last few minutes had overwhelmed whatever social impulses had coaxed her to attend. She knew Walt was performing obligatory mingling, but he still kept looking back to her. It would always be his way.

Omar took Sally's hand and led her onto the impromptu dance floor, even as Cady plumped into the chair.

"I'm popular today," Vic said drily to Cady.

"Dad just told me," she said, not dissembling, "about the two of you. He's happy, Vic. I hope you both will be happy, and stay happy. I've waited a long time for him to get to this stage, to get past the depression after mom's death. I can tell you, it's a weight off me."

"Thanks," she said, surprised, and frankly, _relieved_.

"But," added Cady in a low voice just for her, with outstretched forefinger in her face "don't you _ever_ leave him or break his heart. _Ever_."

Now, that was closer to what she had expected. She made a mental note that she was officially _toast_ if she ever even _thought_ of such a thing. Ferg motioned to Cady from out on the dance floor, and Cady jumped out of the chair again so he could lead her out.

She could feel and _smell_ Walt-scent behind her as he leaned down and in and kissed her ear.

"Tired? Is it time to go home, yet?"

She hesitated, surprised by the PDA. What was _that,_ telling Cady and kissing her in public after the lengthy conversation they had the morning after her injury about not telling anyone?

"It sounds almost like you're hoping I'll say yes."

He gave that guilty, 'aw shucks' grin and she gave him The Eye.

"I wouldn't object." His eyes were the intense blue she associated with…

"Fuck, Walt, it's been, what…six hours?"

He gave a _who me_? shrug but gave her a naughty grin as he sank into the popular chair.

"So, what did you and Sara talk about? You looked uncomfortable."

"Nothing much, I'll tell you later."

He was not dissuaded.

"After thirty years of Christmas cards, I was truly surprised to take her call at the station a few weeks ago."

"Probably wanted to see if there was anything left there?" she ventured.

He shrugged. "She told you about us?"

"About your… _arrangement."_

Now _his_ cheeks went crimson. "Oh."

"Practical, really. You said once you were _motivated_ during your relationship with her, where you learned about the Jewish religion and people, after all."

"Well, yeah." It was an admission. "I went to _Seder_ and _bar mitzvah_ …"

"Was she always that way? I mean, so blunt, and... _personal_?"

He shrugged. "Nope, I think that's age and...I think she might be jealous of your youth, or...us."

The red had not left his cheeks, so she smiled and whispered into his ear, " _Grasshopper_."

He stopped and stared at her, then was out of his chair and had her hand, making their way through the crowds, toward where the Bullet parked in his reserved space.

"Walt!"

He opened the passenger door and lifted — _lifted_ —her inside, stalked around and had the vehicle running in a moment, turning behind the buildings to avoid traffic leading out of town.

She didn't say anything, just watched the town roll by, and then glanced at him.

"Ferg and Jon are on call if needed," he said as though replying to an unasked question, but his jaw was working, clenched.

"I said the wrong word?" she asked, not knowing whether to be amused or _be-_ mused by this entire sequence of events.

"Only if you didn't want to get laid," he said crudely, focused on his driving. He didn't touch or talk to her as _Walt_.

"What did she _do_ to you?" she finally whispered, and laid one of her hands over his right forearm.

"That was her signal to me that she deserved some attention."

"But…"

"But…the byproduct was, the little traitor learned to respond to it, and it made him, um, instantly hard."

She tried so very hard not to laugh. "So…did Martha know that word?"

He gave her the intense look.

"No. I've never told anyone."

"So, after thirty years…"

He pulled up in front of the cabin.

"…it's no longer Sara I want."

She'd take it.

He was around to the passenger door in five seconds, and carried her inside.

"Best Durant Days, _ever_! _"_ she exclaimed, as he threw his hat on the table in passing, which landed brim up for luck. She thought, yes indeed, she was feeling very, _very_ lucky these days.


End file.
